angry with poor Tom.'
'Well, so he deserves,' said Ethel.
'You don't know what it is to see papa angry,' said Richard.
'Dear me, Richard!' cried Ethel, who thought she knew pretty well what his sharp words were. 'I'm sure papa never was angry with me, without making me love him more, and, at least, want to be better.'
'You are a girl,' said Richard.
'You are higher spirited, and shake off things faster,' said Margaret.
'Why, what do you think he would do to Tom?'
'I think he would be so very angry, that Tom, who, you know, is timid and meek, would be dreadfully frightened,' said Richard.
'That's just what he ought to be, frightened out of these tricks.'
'I am afraid it would frighten him into them still more,' said Richard, 'and perhaps give him such a dread of my father as would prevent him from ever being open with him.'
'Besides, it would make papa so very unhappy,' added Margaret. 'Of course, if poor dear Tom had been found out in any positive deceit, we ought to mention it at once, and let him be punished; but while it is all vague suspicion, and of what papa has such a horror of, it would only grieve him, and make him constantly anxious, without, perhaps, doing Tom any good.'
'I think all that is expediency,' said Ethel, in her bluff, abrupt way.
'Besides,' said Richard, 'we have nothing positive to accuse him of, and if we had, it would be of no use. He will be at school in three weeks, and there he would be sure to shirk, even if he left it off here. Every one does, and thinks nothing of it.'
'Richard!' cried both sisters, shocked. 'You never did?'
'No, we didn't, but most others do, and not bad fellows either. It is not the way of boys to think much of those things.'
'It is mean--it is dishonourable--it is deceitful!' cried Ethel.
'I know it is very wrong, but you'll never get the general run of boys to think so,' said Richard.
'Then Tom ought not to go to school at all till he is well armed against it,' said Ethel.
'That can't be helped,' said Richard. 'He will get clear of it in time, when he knows better.'
'I will talk to him,' said Margaret, 'and, indeed, I think it would be better than worrying papa.'
'Well,' said Ethel, 'of course I shan't tell, because it is not my business, but I think papa ought to know everything about us, and I don't like your keeping anything back. It is being almost as bad as Tom himself.'
With which words, as Flora entered, Ethel marched out of the room in displeasure, and went down, resolved to settle Jane Sparks by herself.
'Ethel is out of sorts to-day,' said Flora. 'What's the matter?'
'We have had a discussion,' said Margaret. 'She has been terribly shocked by finding out what we have often thought about poor little Tom, and she thinks we ought to tell papa. Her principle is quite right, but I doubt--'
'I know exactly how Ethel would do it!' cried Flora; 'blurt out all on a sudden, 'Papa, Tom cheats at his lessons!' then there would be a tremendous uproar, papa would scold Tom till he almost frightened him out of his wits, and then find out it was only suspicion.'
'And never have any comfort again,' said Margaret. 'He would always dread that Tom was deceiving him, and then think it was all for want of-- Oh, no, it will never do to speak of it, unless we find out some positive piece of misbehaviour.'
'Certainly,' said Flora.
'And it would do Tom no good to make him afraid of papa,' said Richard.
'Ethel's rule is right in principle,' said Margaret thoughtfully, 'that papa ought to know all without reserve, and yet it will hardly do in practice. One must use discretion, and not tease him about every little thing. He takes them so much to heart, that he would be almost distracted; and, with so much business abroad, I think at home he should have nothing but rest, and, as far as we can, freedom from care and worry. Anything wrong about the children brings on the grief so much, that I cannot bear to mention it.'
Richard and Flora agreed with her, admiring the spirit which made her, in her weakness and helplessness, bear the whole burden of family cares alone, and devote herself entirely to spare her father. He was, indeed, her first object, and she would have sacrificed anything to give him ease of mind; but, perhaps, she regarded him more as a charge of her own, than as, in very truth, the head of the family. She had the government in her hands, and had never been used to see him exercise it much in detail (she did not know how much her mother had referred to him in private), and had succeeded to her authority at a time when his health and spirits were in such a state as to make it doubly needful to spare him. It was no wonder that she sometimes carried her consideration beyond what was strictly right, and forgot that he was the real authority, more especially as his impulsive nature sometimes carried him away, and his sound judgment was not certain to come into play at the first moment, so that it required some moral courage to excite displeasure, so easy of manifestation; and of such courage there was, perhaps, a deficiency in her character. Nor had she yet detected her own satisfaction in being the first with every one in the family.
Ethel was put out, as Flora had discovered, and when she was downstairs she found it out, and accused herself of having been cross to Margaret, and unkind to Tom--of wishing to be a tell-tale. But still, though displeased with herself, she was dissatisfied with Margaret; it might be right, but it did not agree with her notions. She wanted to see every one uncompromising, as girls of fifteen generally do; she had an intense disgust and loathing of underhand ways, could not bear to think of Tom's carrying them on, and going to a place of temptation with them uncorrected; and she looked up to her father with the reverence and enthusiasm of one like minded.
She was vexed on another score. Norman came home from Abbotstoke Grange without having seen Miss Rivers, but with a fresh basket of choice flowers, rapturous descriptions of Mr. Rivers's prints, and a present of an engraving, in shading, such as to give the effect of a cast, of a very fine head of Alexander. Nothing was to be thought of but a frame for this--olive, bay, laurel, everything appropriate to the conqueror. Margaret and Norman were engrossed in the subject, and, to Ethel, who had no toleration for fancy work, who expected everything to be either useful and intellectual, this seemed very frivolous. She heard her father say how glad he was to see Norman interested and occupied, and certainly, though it was only in leather leaves, it was better than drooping and attending to nothing. She knew, too, that Margaret did it for his sake, but, said Ethel to herself, 'It was very odd that people should find amusement in such things. Margaret always had a turn for them, but it was very strange in Norman.'
Then came the pang of finding out that this was aggravated by the neglect of herself; she called it all selfishness, and felt that she had had an uncomfortable, unsatisfactory day, with everything going wrong.
CHAPTER XVII.
Gently supported by the ready aid Of loving hands, whose little work of toil Her grateful prodigality repaid With all the benediction of her smile, She turned her failing feet To the softly cushioned seat, Dispensing kindly greetings all the time. R. M. MILNES.
Three great events signalised the month of January. The first was, the opening of the school at Cocksmoor, whither a cart transported half a dozen forms, various books, and three dozen plum-buns, Margaret's contribution, in order that the school might begin with eclat. There walked Mr. Wilmot, Richard, and Flora, with Mary, in a jumping, capering state of delight, and Ethel, not knowing whether she rejoiced. She kept apart from the rest, and hardly spoke, for this long probation had impressed her with a sense of responsibility, and she knew that it was a great work to which she had set her hand-- a work in which she must persevere, and in which she could not succeed in her own strength.
She took hold of Flora's hand, and squeezed it hard, in a fit of shyness, when they came upon the hamlet, and saw the children watching for them; and when they reached the house, she would fain have shrank into nothing; there was a swelling of heart that seemed to overwhelm and stifle her, and the effect of which was to keep her standing unhelpful, when the others were busy bringing in the benches and settling the room.
It was a tidy room, but it seemed very small when they ranged the benches, and opened the door to the seven-and-twenty children, and the four or five women who stood waiting. Ethel felt some dismay when they all came pushing in, without order or civility, and would have been utterly at a loss what to do with her scholars now
